The sheer dark curtains, sparkle across the soft skies,
Exude a quiet brilliance like a genius yet lonely soul,
Who works best in calm, where serenity abounds,
Heedless to careless banter, oblivious to inimical sounds.
Listening to tales of the morn, the silent night moves on,
Sprinkling sparkles of hope in men dulled by dispirited days.
Glad when fountains of joy erupt in many a thirsty man,
The stars sprawl on the Milky Way to celebrate the success of their plan.
The angelic moon moving across the dark plush carpet
Hiding its rays, gently strokes every sleepy cradle on land
Ah! A spectacular, starry night seeming ever so forlorn
Is no less welcome than the flamboyant fervour of morn.
The tales of love spun in steamy, starry nights
Woven intricately into legendary garments of yore
Find their place of pride in an artist’s dreamy eyes
Nights are slow to be forgotten, while days seem to fly.